


The Horrors of Bathtime

by Vampiric_Charms



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Sameth has quite a temper, doesn’t he? Set when he’s about two or three years old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Horrors of Bathtime

**Author's Note:**

> A friend and I were musing once a long time ago now about why Sam was sent to school so far from the Wall. That conversation is basically where this came from. Set when he is still very young, probably about two or three.

“I cannot do it, Your Majesty. I just can’t!” Beatrice, the governess for the prince and princess, shook her head madly. The prim bun on her head had fallen, and she looked quite flustered as she stared at him.  
  
Her King rose from his desk, and the Queen looked up from her book in surprise. “What seems to be the issue tonight?” Touchstone asked, mildly amused.  
  
“Your son is throwing a tantrum. Again.” The woman stamped her foot angrily and pursed her lips. “It seems he has decided that bath time is the worst thing to exist. He is a little -” She stopped abruptly and bit her tongue. _A little monster_ , is what she wanted to say. But not to the King. That would be a very bad idea. “He has a temper, Your Majesty.”  
  
Touchstone sighed and glanced at his wife. She just raised an eyebrow. “Very well.” He gestured toward the door and shook his head. “You are dismissed for the night.”  
  
Beatrice bowed, thankful, and scooted out the door.  
  
“Would you like me to handle this?” Sabriel asked quietly, resting her book in her lap. “I know how much work you still have to do.”  
  
He looked over at her, comfortable in her chair, and smiled reassuringly. “This is the first night you have had to yourself in weeks. You stay here and read. I will handle our son and his…temper.”  
  
“Just holler if you have any issues,” she said with a laugh.  
  
Touchstone rolled his eyes and left their bedroom to make his way to Sameth’s room. He carefully pushed the door open and peered inside. It was pure chaos. His son was currently in the grasp of an overwhelmed Guard – likely the person Beatrice had left to look after him while she ran to find assistance. Sam was twisting and turning and spitting with child-like ferocity, and it was obvious the poor man was holding him back from attempting to tip the full tub over onto the floor. They were both soaking wet.  
  
“No!” Sam shouted angrily. “No water! No water!”  
  
“Prince Sameth, please calm down! You are going to hurt yourself!” The Guard lost his grip on the boy’s arm and quickly grabbed the back of his shirt before he could escape. He was not a babysitter, and he had absolutely no idea what to do to make the situation better.  
  
“Sam!” Touchstone said sharply, and both Guard and child froze in horror as they stared up at him, imposing in the entryway. To the man, he said gently, “You may release him. Thank you for your help.”  
  
He scrambled to his feet, letting go of the prince to bow shakily to the King. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He darted from the room, leaving behind wet footprints in his haste.  
  
“What is this about?” Touchstone asked, irate, as his son sat on the floor in a huff.  
  
“I don’t wanna bath!” Sameth pouted up at his father and crossed his little arms. “No water!” He picked up a colored building block from a pile beside him and threw it at the bathtub with as much force as he could muster. It hit the side with a dull clang and he smirked, satisfied with himself.  
  
Touchstone knelt in front of him and caught his hand before he could grab another block. “You are a prince, Sameth,” he pointed out firmly. “We can’t have you going around smelling like a boar. It is time for your bath. Right now.”  
  
Sam immediately started screaming, lashing out with a small shoeless foot to hit the King’s calf. “No! No bath!”  
  
For his part, Touchstone stayed quite composed as he grabbed his son’s arms to hold him still as he thrashed and cried. He worried briefly that his son had inherited his berserker blood, but he pushed the thought away. Hopefully that was not the case. “Stop this,” he commanded. “You are going to be in trouble if you do not calm down in the next ten seconds. Control yourself.”  
  
But Sam just screamed and screamed, shaking his head furiously as his face turned red. “I won’t! No water! _No bath!_ ”  
  
He shot a scathing glare at the bathtub, and suddenly the water shot up into the air like a small geyser, spilling over the rim to soak the floor and the walls and his bed, and even the ceiling. Wild Charter Magic filled the room as it leaked from him uncontrollably.  
  
“Sameth!” Touchstone jerked him backward and out of harm’s way as the tub flew across the room and rebounded off the wall, cracking the wooden paneling. Acting quickly, he pulled the magic into him so that it could not be used again with such force.  
  
Seeing the destruction he had just caused, the boy quieted slightly and ceased his yelling. But he was frightened now, putting him even more on edge. He clung tightly to his father’s arm and started crying.  
  
Suddenly the door flew open again, revealing a disheveled Sabriel clutching her bandolier in one hand, the other keeping her balance against the doorframe. “I felt someone pull the Charter,” she said frantically. “What happened? What – what is this?” She looked around, confused as she took in the upended tub and the water dripping from the ceiling.  
  
“Our son,” Touchstone explained severely, “has gone quite mad. He exploded the bathtub.”  
  
Sameth stopped crying and frowned as Sabriel stared at him in shock, her mouth falling open. “Sam!” she scolded angrily. “I thought we had taught you to control your magic! You could have hurt yourself, or your father!”  
  
He pulled away from Touchstone then, silent tears still falling down his round cheeks. “No bath!” And then the howling began again, though now more out of fear of punishment than from his tantrum.  
  
“Oh, you’re _getting_ a bath!” Sabriel snapped over his yelling. “Even if I have to hold you down while your father washes you with a _sponge_.”  
  
“And,” Touchstone added, pointing at him sternly, “you will not be going riding with me this weekend. You have lost all privileges for the rest of this week and next.”  
  
Sam kicked another block, and it flew toward his mother this time. She swung her hand and used a quick mark to knock it off course so that it clattered harmlessly back to the floor, her face impassive. He had lost and he knew it as he scowled.  
  
Touchstone picked him up off the sopping wet rug and held him, soaking, at arms length as he turned to his wife. “Shall we go to the spare room down the hall?”  
  
Sabriel sighed crossly, glancing around at the damage to his bedroom, and nodded. “I will have someone bring up a fresh bath. Forget Bain,” she muttered under her breath as she walked behind them. “We’re sending him to _Corvere_.”


End file.
